As soon as he entered the town, Velin attracted the attention of many Dwarves.
"Such a short beard. It's not even as long as mine."
"That backpack looks awful. He might as well carry a box on his back."
"He doesn't even carry an iron hammer. He must be some lazy good-for-nothing."
Hearing the Dwarves' whispers, Velin flexed his fingers slightly and planted a virtual illusion, woven in a second, into the souls of those big-mouthed Dwarves. When they fell asleep that night, they would get a proper taste of what it felt like to be mocked.
"What are you all standing around for? Have the fields been watered? Has the ore quota been met? Be careful, or there won't be enough food to eat next month."
A somewhat authoritative voice rang out, sending the nearby Dwarves who had been watching the spectacle scattering. Some carried iron pickaxes toward the caves, while others took buckets to the river.
"Welcome to Kabala Village, unfamiliar traveler. I apologize to you on their behalf." The Dwarf elder came before Velin, his face full of apology as he spoke.
"I accept your apology." Velin replied in Dwarven.
"May I ask where you have come from?"
Upon hearing the question, Velin put on a show and pulled an iron plaque from his backpack, handing it to the Dwarf elder.
The Dwarf elder took the plaque. When he saw that it was completely blank, he instinctively reached for the iron hammer at his waist. But in the next moment, a ray of light entered his soul and altered his perception.
"My lord, please forgive my offense." The Dwarf elder bent over with effort and respectfully offered the blank iron plaque back with both hands.
Velin took the plaque back and said, "I'm a little hungry. Do